


Kendo Practice

by VanTotoro



Category: Amanda Sun, Ink: The Paper Gods
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 14:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10572921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanTotoro/pseuds/VanTotoro
Summary: Tomohiro's kami-side takes over during kendo practice and Satoshi tries to break him out of it.(Super mild SatoxTomo fluff fic that could work with the canon. Only rated it "Teen" for a couple of swears.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I could find absolutely zero Ink: The Paper Gods fanfictions, let alone any Tomo/Sato ones and I ship them just enough to change that.

“Go, Tomohiro! Kick his aaa-” Ishikawa's voice faded out when Watanabe-sensei shot him a stern look. He cleared his throat and changed tactics, “You've got this!”

  
Yuu Tomohiro stood ridged and quiet, as if Ishikawa's cries of encouragement weren't reaching him. The _men_ helmet over Tomo's face kept his expression hidden, but Satoshi knew from experience that he would be watching his opponent's movements with intensity. It was unnerving if you weren't prepared for it; the feeling of being hunted.

  
Ishikawa remembered the first time he fought Tomo. He had started coming to _kendo_ when he was 13. His parents desperately wanted him to find an outlet for his “anger issues.” Even though the reason for coming was bullshit, _kendo_ became his passion after that day. He'd lost, miserably, to almost everyone, but Tomohiro had gone easy on him. He'd said, “We were all new once.” He had given Ishikawa the chance to get his bearings, to understand the sport before handily beating him at it.

  
That was the first time Ishikawa had heard Tomo's _kiai_ , and it shook him so much that he made it his goal to top it. Whether he'd done that or not was a matter of opinion, but Ishikawa liked to think that his shouts were threatening enough for the best of them.

  
It was Tomohiro's screaming that brought Sato back into the present. Tomo was scoring point after point, and soon won. But there was something off in the way he was moving. Tomohiro's hits were usually quick and precise, but today he swung broadly and hit his opponent harder than what was necessary.

  
“Tomo!” Katie Greene was kneeling next to Satoshi, hands held up to her mouth in a gasp.

  
Sato flinched at the familiarity Greene had when using his best friend's first name.

  
Tomohiro didn't respond, he swung his _shanai_ and scored what would have counted as another point, but it had no purpose. Nakamura, the opposing _kendoka_ , grunted from the unexpected impact, stumbling.

“Yuu,” Watanabe-sensei warned, walking towards the two. “Enough.”

  
“You won, Tomo,” Greene added, standing.

  
Tomohiro turned his head sharply to look at Greene and, as he did, blood flew from his _men_. Droplets pooled together on the floor.

  
Satoshi did a double-take and realized that it wasn't blood; it was ink. He jumped to his feet and sprinted for Tomo before the _kendoka_ could turn his attention back to Nakamura.

  
“Great work, Yuu,” Satoshi grabbed Tomohiro's shoulders and shook him. To the people watching, it was an overly excited bro-moment, but he was actually trying to bring his friend back into the real world.

  
Tomohiro's eyes confirmed Sato's fear; deep pools of black, no trace of his brown irises. Tomohiro could deny it all he wanted, but Satoshi knew that he was a kami, a decedent of ancient Japanese Gods. And, in a state like this, he was dangerous. “ _Oi_ ,” Sato ran his hand along the grate that separated Tomo's face from his. Fingers slick with ink, he feigned surprise. “You're bleeding.”

  
“Are you okay?” Greene stood next to them now, trying to put herself between Satoshi and Tomo.

  
Sato barely stifled a growl of frustration. Greene's presence always made the ink worse, and he didn't want to think about why. “Bloody nose. Eh, Tomo?”

Tomohiro was silent, his shoulders heaving with the effort it took to breathe.

Watanabe-sensei, who had been distracted by making sure Nakamura was okay, joined their circle of cluttered concern. “Yuu, that was unsportsmanlike and dangerous. Care to explain yourself?”

  
Ishikawa piped up, “Actually, sensei,” he bobbed his head respectfully, “Yuu isn't feeling very well. May we go to the changing room to wash up? I'll make sure he talks to you after class.”

Watanabe-sensei was quiet for several seconds before conceding. “Fine. But hurry.”

  
Ishikawa tilted his head down again. He grabbed Tomohiro by the arm, leading him.

  
Yuu moved like a zombie, apathetic and hostile.

  
Satoshi cast a glance at Greene. Her grey eyes followed them across the room, filled with worry. Sato looked away. He towed Yuu into the boy's locker-room and pushed him against a sink. “Tomo?”

  
Tomohiro's face twisted against his inner conflict.

  
“Tomo, are you in there?” Satoshi unhooked Tomohiro's _men_ and pulled it over his head. Tomo's copper hair was matted to his forehead. “Come on.”

  
Tomohiro made a sharp sound of pain and put his hands on the sink. Ink poured down his cheeks like tears, dripping from some unknown reservoir inside his body.

  
Ishikawa dug in the pockets of his cargo pants and came up with a green handkerchief. He gingerly touched one side of Tomohiro's jaw and aimed the man's face towards him. “You're okay. Calm down already.” Wherever the little square of cloth touched Tomo's face, it was stained an oily black.

  
Tomohiro could be broken out of his episodes, if you gave him time. Usually he came back on his own, since he didn't want Ishikawa to see his kami side. But this seemed different. Tomo looked more distant than ever. Was it the adrenaline of the fight that set him off? Greene? Or something else entirely? Sato had no idea.

  
“Here,” Satoshi wrapped his fingers around Tomohiro's thin wrist and set him down on one of the long wooden benches. He pushed someone's backpack out of the way and sat beside him. Ishikawa held onto both of Tomo's hands and tried to make some sort of eye-contact, which proved difficult.

  
The two sat in silence for several painfully slow minutes.

  
“Sato.”

  
Satoshi looked up, expecting Tomohiro to be back, but the only change was that he'd started shivering. Shivering in little waves like there was a blustering wind that Ishikawa couldn't feel.

  
“I'm here,” Satoshi said. “Are you?”

  
Tomohiro leaned forward and his forehead pressed against Satoshi's shoulder.

  
Ishikawa reached up and tentatively touched the back of Tomo's head, smoothing his hair. He scanned his friend's face for a sign that he was in there somewhere; looking from his horrible, lost eyes, to his cheekbones, before resting on Tomohiro's lips. Pale and pressed together as Tomo clenched his jaw.

  
Sato had always cared for Yuu. The early days, he spent a lot of time pretending that he didn't like Tomo, that whatever he felt wasn't real. But it was. Real and seemingly unavoidable. Sato had been working on getting over his friend. He loved Tomo enough to respect that he wasn't interested. And he was too afraid of ruining the friendship, to say anything. Ever. Tomohiro was one of the few people in his life who truly cared about whether he lived or died, and Satoshi couldn't stand the thought of losing that.

  
But in this moment, there was nothing Ishikawa wanted more then to lean over and kiss Tomo. Because, whether he should or not, he did love him.

  
It wasn't a far distance to close.

  
Sato took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Finally, he did lean in, but he only let his lips brushed the edge of Tomo's jawline, barely touching at all. It would be cowardly to kiss him when he wasn't himself.

  
When Ishikawa sat back, his stomach flipped over. Tomohiro's eyes were back to normal. Sato's face burned, and he dropped both of Yuu's hands, like they hurt to touch.

  
“Satoshi?” Tomohiro coughed, muffling it with the collar of his shirt. “What... What happened?”

  
“I- I didn't - I don't... Tomo,” Ishikawa stumbled over every word, as though he'd forgotten how to form proper sentences.

  
“Where am I?” Yuu looked around, clearly just getting his bearings.

  
“The- the locker room,” Satoshi replied. “You lost it in that last match, Tomo.”

  
Tomohiro blinked a few times before looking down. He slumped away, closing up like he always did.

  
Sato furrowed his eyebrows. “What the hell was that about Tomo? You've never been 'gone' so long before.”

  
“I'm just dehydrated. You worry too much, Satoshi.” The bitter way Yuu said his name stung.

  
Ishikawa stood up and crossed his arms. “That's bullshit and we both know it. Why do you pretend like everything is under control, when I _know_ it's not!?”

  
“Ishikawa, listen to me: there is nothing to get under control!” Tomohiro brushed past him. He swiveled on his heel and leaned into the door.

  
“Don't try the tough guy act on me, Tomo," Sato snarled. "I invented the tough guy act."

  
Tomo flashed him a small, sincere smirk, there and gone in under a second.

  
It was enough to soften Sato's own expression. “Look, I just wo-”

  
“Tomo?”

  
It was Greene's inquisitive voice. She had a habit of putting herself where she wasn't meant to be, so calling into the boy's locker room was unsurprising.

  
“You just what?” Tomo asked, maintaining eye-contact.

  
“Nothing,” Ishikawa responded coldly.

  
“Are you guys okay? People are asking about Tomo!” Greene pressed. “Watanabe-sensei is not happy.”

  
Sato gestured towards the door. "Go on."

  
Tomohiro stared for several seconds, before giving him a curt nod. He slid the door open, squared his shoulders, and stepped out.

  
Ishikawa turned, watching himself in the mirror above the sink. Outside, Tomo apologized to everyone.  
  
  
Satoshi ran the faucet, trying in vain to wash ink off his green handkerchief.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just curious if there are any other shippers of these two out there. :P


End file.
